WaterLover is in its final edit - cover reveal in the next few months
THERE is a reason I am afraid of my own shadow. What kind of a monster am I?
I ask myself this question every morning, and go to bed every night without a satisfying answer. So far, I’ve worked out, that a hundred and forty-seven definitions fit.
I’ve counted them.
And still there must be more.
They all fit, all justify, all describe me, making me possibly the most cunning predator that ever lived.
I don’t mean in the killing sense.
I’m certainly no murderer, not of the flesh kind. Of the heart, well …that’s a different story. People often say that when their heart is broken, they want to die … so maybe I am a killer … to some degree. I am guilty, there’s no doubt about that, and a hundred years ago, I’d definitely be swinging from the gallows. As it is, there’s zero chance of me getting out of this wearing a halo or even parole, no matter how hard I tried to resist.
My problem is … in the last four months, I have developed a conscience.
Something I didn’t think I was capable of having.
And impossible … so impossible.
And, something I hadn’t foreseen.
Altering me in such a way, I hardly recognise the person I used to be. All because I came face to face with the girl I’ve been dreaming about since my lungs first filled with air. I say that long ago because I can’t remember a time when she wasn’t waiting for me whenever I closed my eyes. She was always there, and when darkness fell and my life became that little more unbearable, loneliness killing me slowly … she was there.
My one regret … I wish I hadn’t lied to her. I wish I hadn’t done half the things I’ve done to get to know her. I wish she hadn’t fallen in love with me … because it isn’t truly me … it’s an illusion, a hunter, an insect without remorse, without guilt, living within my skin, seducing, manipulating, devouring everything it wants.
That one regret now watches, gleeful, allowing karma to ladle me into a large bowl, ready to make a meal out of me …